Alpha Alden
If he expects me to pull my shirt up for him, he is mistaken.
When I don’t speak, he continues. “I apologise for waking you so early in the morning, and intruding. But I needed to speak to you.”
I’m unsure of how early it is, but I feel it in my weak limbs, and heavy eyelids. Alden looks blissfully untouched by the hour, skin bright and fresh, eyes keen, demeanor proud and ready. He smells delightful also, like sweet vanilla. How does he manage to remain so put together at all times? I won’t admit he’s handsome. No way.
Bab Populer